


bukowski

by froglawyer



Category: youtube - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Boys Kissing, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Frat Boy Sapnap, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Nerd George, Not like that's different from normal George, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, frat boy dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29236491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froglawyer/pseuds/froglawyer
Summary: George is in his senior year of college in Florida, far away from home without much optimism for both his social and professional future. He makes an unlikely friend that opens up a whole new world of his college for him, and he's pulled into a tailspin of love, hate, confusion, and hope. What happens if George is too convinced he can brave life alone?-Disclaimer: Not shipping them in real life, they just make for a fascinating idea-Title from Bukowski by Moose Blood/Poet BukowskiCheck individual chapter summaries for specific TWs
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37





	1. shakespeare

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! Once again, had a brain itch to scratch with this one. The boys are in character to the best of my abilities while keeping it in AU form, at least for now. Obviously, I don't ship them or even think they're remotely together in real life, but I like how their personalities clash and I just wanted to write something to get it out of my head. I'm not super certain on chapter amount or a schedule for posting, but I'm really thinking this story through, so updates might take longer than normal. Please give me feedback in the comments, I love what you guys have to say.

“What are you reading?”

“Jesus!” George snaps his book shut and feels for his heartrate, the beat feels as though it should make his shirt jump.

“Sorry, dude.” In all fairness, Nick really does look like he’s trying to feel apologetic. The rueful expression stops at the eyes, though. “I was saying your name for, like, five minutes, man.”

“Five minutes?” George asks, one eyebrow cocked up. He slips his book back into his bag, a Shakespeare sonnet book he had found in the school library that had seemed interesting.

Nick just shrugs and flings himself onto the bench that George is sitting on, and George is ever grateful for his neighbor’s lack of curiosity for George’s personal business. Nick lives several doors down and across the street from George in the Sigma Chi fraternity house. George has never personally been there, but the parties are so raucous that George can imagine nearly everything that transpires there from a neighborly distance. Their acquaintanceship extends to convenience (and Nick’s persistently loud mouth) as they wait for their shared bus at their shared bus stop, a shuttle that beelines for the heart of the University of Florida. They shared the stop all of last semester during Nick’s freshman year, but they didn’t start speaking to each other until halfway through when Nick offered George a piece of gum.

“What classes do you have today?” Nick asks as he stretches his arms over his head, and George winces at the pop that comes from his shoulders.

“Just some computer theory and calculus. You?”

“Similar stuff.” George nods at the response and picks at his jeans. They're both majoring in Computer Science (George had been surprised at the information, Nick looks like he majors in PE), but their classes never mix because of their grade difference. “You might want to invest in some earplugs, by the way.”

George huffs out a small laugh. “Really? Why’s that?”

“We planned a real rager for tomorrow. I don’t know what happened, but the word spread fast and now I think half of Florida is gonna be at our house,” Nick explains cheerily.

“I see,” George mutters and a pregnant pause fills the air. George chances a glance over at Nick and he’s biting his lip like he wants to say something, so George beats him to it. “What?”

“Nothing, just thinking.” Nick swats the air like he’s physically waving away a thought. George shrugs and goes back to pulling at the seams of his trousers. “Why haven’t you ever come to one of our parties?” George freezes. “I mean, c’mon, dude. You’re British, people would love you.”

“Because I’m British?” George muses, finding the easily loosening thread much more interesting than the turn of the conversation.

“Partly, I dunno. It’d be easy enough to sneak over. Why haven’t you?”

“Maybe I have and I just pointedly avoid you,” George shoots back just because he wants to be a dick. In reality, he has never stepped foot on the frat property, it sounds like a nightmare. The sweaty crowd, the overwhelming smell of booze, the massive throng of horny college students. Absolute nightmare.

“You wound me, George.” There’s another pause. George is starting to hate pauses, it gives Nick too much time to think. “I’m sorry I never invited you before. I just never even thought about it.”

“Don’t worry. Parties aren’t really my thing,” George is quick to reassure him, hoping that Nick gets the message.

Blessed is he, however, as their bus punctually pulls up to a stop in front of them, stopping Nick from continuing the conversation. George flies to his feet and quickly swipes his bus car and he vaguely hears Nick follow him up the steps. Then, George huddles himself into one of the single seats and plugs in his headphones, David Bowie filling his ears and mind, pushing out thoughts of parties and fraternities.

-

After class, George returns to his flat, which is on the second floor of a three-story complex. It’s not technically on campus, but college students fill up every apartment. His neighbor’s smoking weed again, and the pungent smell fills up the dry air as George drops his keys onto his kitchen table. The apartment is small but it’s George’s haven, little windows illuminate his dark furniture dully. The decorations are minimal (his mum thinks it’s ‘sparse, add a little life in there, George!’), but he thinks that the scratching post for his cat adds enough character. The cat in question greets him with a tiny chirp at the door and George stoops to scratch at her head.

“Hello, Baby,” George coos, and Baby purrs back gratefully before strutting away. George had named her Baby because he knew he wouldn’t have called her anything else, so why have a regular name at all?

George lurches back to his feet and sighs, mentally assessing his level of homework that he has to complete. Summer vacation has just ended, and the workload isn’t too heavy yet, but George is in his senior year and he expects this year to be his most difficult. He doesn’t know why he chose to come to Florida for university, something about the warm humidity and American spirit drove him to leave his home, but now he’s been here for three years and he’s still not certain what he’s going to do with himself. He’s going to code or do something with developing, but sometimes he feels as though the life he’s made for himself in Florida wasn’t supposed to be his future. Not only has he made few friends, but he still hasn’t found a purpose or a goal.

A loud noise breaks George from his thoughts and he rushes to the window to investigate. Outside, several doors down and across the street, a large group of boys seem to have just finished a game of American yard football or at least scored a goal (a touchdown?). George still doesn’t really understand the rules of it. He squints to see if he can find Nick in the crowd, and he spots the shorter figure in his usual Adidas sweatpants, talking animatedly to a taller guy with blond hair who seems to be holding the winning ball in question. All of the fraternity boys surround them and the two figures disappear in a huddle. George backs away from the window, seeing that it wasn’t any kind of emergency out there, and snags his previously forgotten backpack from the ground.

An hour or two passes of George studying, but he quickly grows tired of data scripts and dinner sounds much more appealing. Baby follows quickly behind him, seeming to sense that the movement from the desk to the kitchen could be of use to her. George quickly plops some of her wet food into a bowl and then bustles around trying to find something for himself.

“Shit,” George mutters as he opens each cabinet, finding almost nothing. He does find a post-it he had previously written for himself in the fridge, though, reminding him to get milk and eggs. “Ugh. Baby, I have to go to the store. I’ll be right back.” Baby blinks back at him and he feels like she understands him.

George grabs his keys and his wallet and sets out for the grocery market. It's more like a gas station without the gas, but it has enough food for a college student. He makes it down the apartment steps without incident and out into the street. It’s around 5 PM, and while the sun is still out, the overwhelming heat has lowered into a gentle warmth. He starts by plugging in his headphones and letting Spotify shuffle his music, wanting anything to narrate his short walk other than the sound of late summer crickets. However, as George starts making his way down the street, the frat boys are still out on the front lawn and George just can’t understand how they can possibly be playing yard sports for that long. He just tries to keep his head down and ignore them to the best of his ability.

“George?” He vaguely hears shouted over his music, but he hopes that if he just keeps walking that he’ll be left alone. “George!”

He pulls out a headphone and glances to his right and of course, there’s Nick on the yard waving at him, and his stomach feels like it’s dropping when he sees half of the frat boys have stopped to stare at him. George manages out a little wave and starts walking faster, but he hears footsteps rapidly approaching from across the street.

“George, wait up!” Defeated, George slows down and lets Nick fall in line next to him. “What’s up, dude? I feel like I never see you out and about.”

“Just getting groceries,” George mumbles, shifting his focus up from the pavement to Nick’s face, where two bright eyes are staring him down with seemingly unshakeable confidence.

“Oh, nice!” Nick does have a friendly smile. “I can walk with you for a bit if you want.”

George feels both touched and appalled at the suggestion, struggling to keep his face neutral. The offer is nice, but he really has to plan out his social interactions before he has them. “Er- I mean, if you want to. It’s not going to be very exciting.”

“Well-”

Nick’s reply is cut off by a call from the tall blond that George saw at the window earlier. “Sap! C’mon, you still playing?”

“Gimme a sec!” Nick yells back, then he turns back to George. 

“Sap?” George wonders out loud with a small laugh. 

“Old nickname, don’t worry about it. Sorry, though, I guess I can’t go with you. Dream gets annoyingly competitive about front yard football.”

“Dream?,” George wonders aloud again, but then remembers that he’s in no hurry to keep company. “Seriously, though. You’re good, get back to your game.”

Nick looks as though he’s about to cross back to his side of the street, but he pauses at the last moment; “You doing anything tomorrow?”

“Uh, don’t know yet,” George replies, feet shuffling in discomfort. This sounds like it’s leading to more social interaction.

“You don’t know if you have plans on a Saturday night?” Nick asks incredulously, but George just shrugs. “Okay, well, if you’re not busy, you should come to the party I was telling you about earlier. I know you said parties aren’t your thing, but you can give it a try if you want.”

“Oh.” George gives himself a moment to think, but Nick interrupts.

“You don’t have to tell me now, just show up if you wanna come. You know where it’ll be. Starts at 8, ends whenever.” With that, Nick cuffs him lightly on the arm with a warm smile and jogs back across the street.

George rushes to put his headphone back in his ear, but not before he catches a “-that’s the British one?” It feels like there’s eyes on his back until he rounds the block, and then he finally relaxes. It was nice to be invited to something, and it was nice of Nick to put no pressure on him to come, so George spends some serious time considering the offer, despite his intense loathing for parties. He stews over it as he makes his rounds at the market, grabbing various staples, and he comes to his decision on his walk back to his apartment.

It’s nearly dark by the time he finds his way back up his street, and the sky’s colors are dull as the sun dips under the horizon. George briefly scans for stars as he always does, but only one or two shine their way past the light pollution. He glances towards the Sigma Chi house, and on the front patio sits two boys, the blond looking up at the sky and the other, Nick, is picking at the football. Nick takes a moment to see him, but when he does his face lights up as he waves at George, and George gives a wave back. Then, George finds himself at his apartment’s entrance, and he makes his way into the foyer and up the stairs, back to his home. He unlocks the door and shoves it open with his shoulder, dropping the groceries on his table along with his keys. His cat saunters up to him and rubs against his legs, but he puts the groceries away before he turns his attention to her.

“Hey, guess what?” He asks her, kneeling down and scratching gently under her chin. “I’m going to a party tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that Dream is hardly in it! I know it sort of seems like a GeorgeNap fic right now, but I think that George and Sap make cute friends. Sapnap might be a dick to him online obviously in a loving way, but I feel like Sapnap would be nicer in real life. I don't know why I keep writing from George's perspective, Dream and I are way more alike in every way, but that almost makes it harder to write like him. ADHD twins. Love ya guys.


	2. star shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Descriptions of vomit. George goes to a party.

George wakes up the next morning groggy, having stayed up too late watching his newest Netflix obsession. His mouth feels dry and his back aches from falling asleep on his couch, he had been too tired to move to his bed the night before. Light streaks in through the living room window, dust particles floating through the air, and George watches them idly as he contemplates actually getting up from the couch. His attention is grabbed by Baby chirping at him from deeper into the flat, and George knows that she’s probably hungry and that he should probably get up and start his day. He checks his phone, 11 AM, so not too bad of a morning start. There are no new notifications except for a text from his boss asking him to cover a shift on Sunday. For the past two years, George has been working at the school’s library. It pays enough for the flat and it introduces him to new books every day, so he can’t complain. Another, more annoyed sounding, meow interrupts his thought process, but he shoots a quick text saying that he can cover the shift.

“I get it, I get it. You’re starving and I’m neglectful, right?” George snarks at the cat once he reaches her and her food bowl, but she just blinks at him. He sighs and scoops some food in the bowl. She nudges his hand with her head and begins to eat. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’m just tired.”

When Baby doesn’t respond in any way except to continue chewing, George begins on a trek for his own food. The groceries from the night before had been hastily put away, meaning that all of the cold stuff had gone in the fridge and the not cold stuff was shoved into the pantry. George isn’t a cook by any means, but he can at least start his day with eggs and toast. He also puts the kettle on for some tea. Nothing like the traditional English breakfast that he would prefer, and that he always is homesick for, but good enough. Baby finds her way back to him when he sits down to eat on the couch, and George pets her absentmindedly while he eats.

The sound of loud voices pricks at his ear and as per usual, he takes a peek outside. Several people have crowded onto various porches around the street, and George thinks he might see beer in some of their hands already. It turns George’s stomach just thinking about it. Beer at 11 AM? It’s disgusting. He knows people pregame, he’s seen this almost every weekend that he’s been here, but he's only gone to a handful of those pregames and even less of the parties that follow. As George backs away from the window, he reconsiders going to the party at all. The idea of parties feel romanticized to him, like a bunch of drunk and high 20 somethings is supposed to have some sort of deeper meaning to it. But every time he’s gone to one, it feels exactly like what it is. A cesspool of people wanting to get laid and forget about it in the morning.

His tea goes cold as he sits on his couch, mindlessly flipping through his phone. The time passes slowly at first, but then suddenly it’s 4 PM and he feels like he should probably decide whether or not he’s going to the party. He thinks through his options, coming to the conclusion that if he can find an outfit that’s good enough, then he’ll go. He struggles to his feet, legs asleep from being tucked under him, and Baby excitedly hops up from her spot on the couch to follow him to his bedroom.

George is a pretty tidy person, but his room falls into disarray as he looks for something to wear. He picked out the shoes already, a pair of old black Vans that he wouldn’t mind getting liquor or worse liquids on. You can never be sure what the floor of a party will contain, and his sneaker collection is expensive and extensive. He can’t risk getting any of his nice ones dirty. Black jeans are the obvious choice for trousers, but he’s stuck on the shirt option. A lot of his clothes are blue, mostly because it’s the color he can see the best, but he can’t decide what’s most appropriate for a party. A white shirt and a blue flannel? Just a blue hoodie? Maybe one of his various brown or yellow-looking shirts?

“You are of absolutely no help,” George mumbles to Baby when she curls up on a pile of discarded t-shirts. “Maybe I just shouldn’t go.”

Then he remembers Nick’s excited look when he asked George to come. While George is an introvert and is more than happy to spend his time at home alone, it’s his last year and he’s still sorely lacking in the friends' department. Sure, he’s made some, but most of them have already graduated and moved on with their lives. It could be a good thing to not spend another Saturday night hunched over his computer screen.

Eventually, George settles on a white Vans short-sleeved shirt with a gray jumper over it. He tries it on in front of his full-length mirror, trying to assess how it looks, but it just seems like any other outfit that he would wear to walk around campus in. Well, what you see is what you get. The alarm clock next to his bed informs him that it’s now 4:47 PM and that he should really be considering eating dinner before potentially getting white-girl wasted.

He feeds Baby then gets to the kitchen, not really wanting anything besides ramen. The noodles cook fast and he settles down on the couch to eat, getting a few more episodes of his Netflix show in before it’s time to head across and down the street. The same hesitation from earlier hits him again in full force as he slips his wallet and phone into his pockets. His couch looks incredibly comfortable, and the episode he had just watched had left off on a cliffhanger. But then he remembers Nick’s excited wave from the night before, and he feels obligated to come despite Nick saying he didn’t have to go.

It’s 9 PM by the time George finally leaves his apartment, double-checking that he locked it before slowly making his way down the stairs. He opens the door of his complex to find the street already filled with students, the porches and yards filled with already drunk people. The party seems to be centralized at the Sigma Chi house, but many of the other houses have open doors with people milling in and out of them like there’s no tomorrow. George makes his way through the crowded sidewalk, the stench of alcohol already overwhelming him as he pushes towards Sigma Chi. George’s stomach churns when he sees how full the house is, and he wonders if he’ll even be able to find Nick at all in there.

The front door is open, and for some reason, George expects a bouncer or something to stop him when he steps over the threshold. But nobody stops him and suddenly he’s at a party, thumping bass erupting out of what seems to be an infinite amount of speakers. The bottom of his shoes already feels sticky as he maneuvers through the foyer, a plethora of drunk and sweaty students making better obstacles than people. George’s eyes flick around the room he enters, a kitchen, but he can’t seem to spot a familiar face.

The kitchen table is filled with liquor in various forms, empty Keystone beers and Smirnoff bottles lining the floor under it. There’s a big bowl and ladle in the middle with a tiny, battered sign in front that just reads ‘Jungle Juice’ with red plastic cups surrounding it. The house so far is completely filthy, and George bristles with discomfort as somebody knocks into him as they pass. Just as George feels too overwhelmed and sober, ready to leave, he feels a hand clamp onto his shoulder.

“George?” A voice yells over the music and he whips around to find the hand to belong to Nick. Relief flows through him and he gives Nick a little wave. “George! No way, I don’t believe it. I have to be hallucinating. Darryl! Darryl, am I hallucinating George?”

Another boy seems to appear at George’s side, tall with high cheekbones and short hair. “Hi, I’m Darryl. Are you George?”

“Yes, I am. Nice to meet you,” George gives him a smile, slightly surprised at the small voice that came from an almost intimidating guy.

“See, Sap? Not hallucinating.” Darryl returns the smile and claps Nick on the shoulder before disappearing back into the throng of people.

“Seriously, why do they all call you Sap?” George asks, following Nick as he makes a beeline for the alcohol table.

Nick refills his own cup and fills up another with the jungle juice, shoving the new cup into George’s hand. “It’s an old nickname that stuck. It’s short for Sapnap, which is...”

Nick’s next couple of words are drowned out by a roar from the crowd as a new song starts, people around them rushing to new rooms to dance in.

“What?” George yells over the noise.

“Pandas!” Nick yells back, leaving George even more confused than before he asked the question. “Now, you have some catching up to do! By the time I get back, this cup better be empty.”

Then, Nick disappears into the next room over where the majority of the other people have congregated. George takes an apprehensive sip at his drink and is surprised to find the taste to be incredibly sweet and barely alcoholic, but he assumes that the taste is deceiving with how drunk everyone else seems to be. He takes another brave chug and finds himself in the room with everyone else, and the sight is something to behold. The crowded room seems to be moving everywhere he looks, a writhing mass made up of people dancing, making out, smoking, and some look like they didn’t wait to get to the bedroom to have sex. Nick is completely out of George’s field of vision, and he even scans the room for Darryl, at least a slightly familiar face. But, the alcohol in his hand has already begun to soothe him, and he feels his foot tapping to the beat of the song without his permission.

Then, there’s a magnificent noise that triumphs over the droning party music and George whips around, feeling droplets of his drink slosh out of his cup and over his fingers as he tries to find the source. He wanders out of the dancing room and back into the foyer, stunned at the change in scenery. The sight that greets him looks almost like a Baroque painting, a slew of rosy-cheeked students cheering at the top of their lungs, half of them hoisting a long figure upside down over a keg. Beer drips down the side of the keg as the boy seems to chug half of it while the other half appears to be staining the carpet.

“That’s disgusting.” George turns his head slightly and is greeted by a tall boy in a beanie, and George is happy to hear a similarly voiced opinion to the ones that are currently running through his mind. Especially another British one.

“It’s honestly like I can’t look away, it’s so gross but it’s hypnotizing,” George responds. The boy nods emphatically and sips at his drink, wincing slightly so George assumes whatever the beverage is, the alcohol content is brutal. 

They both turn back to stare at the unfortunate affair in front of them, and the kegstand boy is finally lowered from his position. The cheering erupts again as the now upright guy, somehow, finds his balance with ease, and George is instantly annoyed by the cocky smile that makes its way up his face. George picks his brain, trying to figure out where he knows the boy from, and then suddenly remembers his name, Dream, Nick’s friend. Their eyes meet for a moment, and the smile widens with recognition, but not in a way that George feels good about. The crowd rushes him and Dream disappears in it, all chanting something that George can’t quite make out. George takes an unguarded sip of his drink, trying to forget ever seeing the kegstand.

“I’m Wilbur, by the way.” George’s attention immediately returns to the person still standing next to him. “That was such a horrible thing we just viewed that I’m pretty sure we’re trauma bonded now.”

George feels himself laughing, but it doesn’t sound like it came from him. He almost sounds underwater. “I'm George.” Another sip of jungle juice. “I just didn’t know that it could smell more like beer in here. I’m kind of impressed.”

“Have you been to one of these before? I feel like I’d remember another Brit,” Wilbur asks, finally able to talk in a normal volume now that the crowd has disappeared with Dream and the keg.

“Oh, no. This is my first party in a while,” George mumbles from behind his drink, still waiting desperately for the alcohol to kick in to ease his nerves.

Wilbur raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? What year are you?”

“Senior,” George replies, feeling heat rush to his face. Everybody always assumes he’s young.

“Oh, me, too. What’s your major? Because I-” But then Wilbur’s attention diverts and George follows his eyes to a petite blonde girl waving at Wilbur from another room. “Sorry, that’s my friend. I should go say hi, but nice meeting you.” 

“See you later,” George says, feeling disappointed but understanding at the quick exit. Wilbur gives him a wave as he walks away.

George goes to take another sip of his drink but finds the cup to be empty, and he stares at the bottom of it in shock. He remembers Nick’s words about catching up and makes his way back to the kitchen to refill his drink. There’s a couple of guys hovering around the beverage table, but George manages to sneak his hand in to grab the ladle. He pours himself another cup and sets out to find Nick again, hoping that he hasn’t ventured far from the dancing room.

The booming music feels less overwhelming to him now, and the crowd of people looks less disgusting and more fun than anything. Before George can get anymore ideas about joining the dancing, he feels a shoulder knock none too gently into his own.

“You old enough to be drinking that?” The shoulder knocker asks and before George even sees his face, a hand reaches out to snatch the drink from him. George’s head instantly turns to meet the drink stealer, finding the cocky smile and blond hair.

“Can I have that back, please?” George tries to go for polite, but the sting of embarrassment and annoyance makes his tone sound more irritated than anything.

“Ooooo, British. What’re you gonna do, tattle to the Queen?” Dream asks with a laugh, taking a sip of George’s stolen drink. Dream’s voice is low and steady and George hates him for it.

“So original. Is your next comeback anything to do with tea or crumpets?” George loses his patience, trying to grab back at the drink but Dream is quicker, hiding it behind his back.

“Too slow,” Dream replies with obvious glee, a hard glint in his eye. 

Then the song changes again and the regular shuffle of people exiting and entering the dance floor occurs and Dream turns and disappears in it, leaving George pissed off and drink-less. Then, like a gift from God, George makes eye contact with Nick through the crowd. Nick’s eyes light up and he disappears for a moment, reappearing in front of George after a few well-placed looking shoves.

“Dude! Where have you been?” Nick asks, looking far more intoxicated than the last time George saw him. “And where’d your drink go?”

“Someone took it,” George explains ruefully, trying to release the tension in his body from his last interaction. 

“Who?” Nick asks, immediately looking around for the perpetrator. George doesn’t tell him, just shrugging, not wanting to start something between Nick and his friend. “Well, I’ll kick their ass later. C’mon, dude, the cup runneth over, we’ll get you some more.”

Nick leads George into the kitchen and then the next couple of hours are a blur, Nick barely leaving his side. George gets introduced to more people than he can count, and almost every single one asks if he’s from England, and then immediately asks if he knows Wilbur. He stops trying to explain that the UK is a big place with a large population after the first couple of people ask, eventually just telling them that, yes, he’s from England, and yes, he knows Wilbur.

They end up in a room upstairs with a smaller group who are smoking, but George just absentmindedly sips on his drink and listens to the conversation. George checks his phone for the first time only to find it to be 2 AM, and he nearly faints at how late it is. The reminder that he has a shift in just a couple of hours hits him like a ton of bricks, and he turns to Nick with the bad news, surprisingly almost disappointed that he has to leave.

“It’s getting late, I have to work tomorrow,” George says, gently nudging Nick’s ribs with his elbow.

Nick blinks at him for a moment with glassy eyes, but then seems to realize what he said. “Oh, bummer. D’you want me to walk you out?”

George nearly laughs at this, doubting that Nick is sober enough to even stand right now, much less walk down the stairs. “No, I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.”

“Okay, well,” Nick nudges George’s ribs in return. “Thanks for coming, dude. See you Monday?”

“See you Monday,” George agrees and hoists himself up, fumbling a little. He had lost count of his drinks at five, but he knows there were far more than that. He waves goodbye to the rest of the group, but only a couple even notice enough to wave back.

The noise has lowered significantly since George’s initial entrance and when he finally makes it down to the bottom floor, there’s only about half of the people that were there earlier. The party’s still going, but there’s also several people passed out on various couches or even the floor. George carefully maneuvers towards the front door, but then his greatest fear is actualized. His foot lands in something that makes a very unpleasant squelch, and he looks down to see vomit. The putrid smell quickly travels up towards him, and he flings himself out of the front door and away from the puke.

Usually, when George is around throw up, which blissfully isn’t often, he’s fine. But when he’s intoxicated, it throws him into his own fit of nausea. It’s one of the reasons he avoids parties, but usually, he’s gone before anybody has enough time to get drunk enough to throw up. He had actually enjoyed himself at this party and stayed late, and this is his ironic reward. George glances around for people, but the chilly night air has caused most to retreat into various houses, so George is nearly alone outside. He leans on one of the posts of the front porch, hoping that the stability would help his nausea, but he still feels it building up inside of him. Quickly, he kneels to the ground to stabilize himself further, and this time it helps a little. However, the puke smell from his shoe hits him again and it’s like a punch in the gut. 

“See, I knew you were too young to drink. Can’t even handle a little bit of jungle juice.” George hears a voice above him, and he instantly bristles. The rancid smell of puke filling his nose almost knocks him into another wave of nausea, but the need to prove the asshole above him wrong drives George back onto his feet.

“I’m sorry that you made your stupid fucking jungle juice with enough vodka to make people go blind,” George manages to spit out after a moment, and he finally feels the strength to raise his head to greet the villain interrupting him. “You don’t have any room to talk anyways, I think there’s a new five-meter beer and spit stain on the carpet with your name on it.”

“Oh, we just don’t make our drinks for pussies,” Dream says with an easy grin and George wants to knock his perfect teeth out. “What are you, a freshman? Do you need to call mommy and daddy, have them pick you up?”

“Fuck you, dude. I’m not dealing with this right now,” George snaps, and Dream has the audacity to look amused. His tanned and freckled face with high cheekbones swims in George’s vision, eyes glittering like shattered stars. In the moment, George has never hated anything more.

“Aw, sorry. Did I offend you?” The smile has stretched into an almost sneer.

George shuts his eyes and takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then reopens them. Another tidal wave of nausea hits him.

“When other people throw up,” George finally grits out. “I throw up. Seriously, dude, what’s your problem? You don't even know me.”

“Whatever you say, I was just trying to help,” Dream retorts, giving him one last judgemental glance before he turns on his heel and walks back to the party. George stands there shuddering for a moment, rage and alcohol and nausea instantly leeching all of the energy from his body.

When George finally feels a modicum of strength return to his limbs, he stumbles back up and across the street to his apartment. He shoves his flat’s door open with his shoulder, immediately going to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. The cup of water is chugged in one go, and he refills it to place next to his bed. Baby meows excitedly and runs between his legs, not helping George’s already hindered balance.

His bed, still messy from the outfit picking, is the most comfortable thing that he’s ever been on in his life. The mattress and pillows fold under him gently, and he reflects on his night before slumber takes him. The party had been the most fun he’s had in a while, despite the interactions with Dream, and maybe Nick would invite him to more. Maybe they could just hang out without a party, with some of the other people he had been introduced to. He stares out the window next to his bed, struggling to find the constellations in the sky, the mottled glass distorting them. He falls asleep with shattered stars in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I stayed up way too late writing this one. I've spent about 2 weeks writing this because I've been kind of unmotivated, but the chapter is finally finished. So, wig. As usual, thank you so much for reading, and let me know what you think! Dream's kind of an asshole, sorry Dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that Dream is hardly in it! I know it sort of seems like a GeorgeNap fic right now, but I think that George and Sap make cute friends. Sapnap might be a dick to him online obviously in a loving way, but I feel like Sapnap would be nicer in real life. I don't know why I keep writing from George's perspective, Dream and I are way more alike in every way, but that almost makes it harder to write like him. ADHD twins. Love ya guys.


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